The Green eyed Devil
by roman314
Summary: From the eastern Kingdom to the Outlands, a small shadow has been roaming the world of Azeroth ever since the end of the second war, preying on the desires of the heart, leaving an impression on some of Azeroth's greatest characters. But now with the threat of the Legion, the most unlikely group will arise to fight what seem to be overwhelming odds. MoD Harry, some major OOC
1. Chapter 1

I Do not Own either World of Warcraft nor Harry Potter. Anything that you may recognize do not belong to me.

I would like to say that this is my first story, and that English is not my first language.

AU for Both WOW and Harry Potter, OOC probable.

Chapter 1

Sylvanas twitched in annoyance as a bead of sweat rolled down her brow. For hours she had

stood her ground, fighting her way through hordes of undead. For weeks now she had defended

her homeland against the Scourge, led by the death knight Arthas Menethil ; countless hours of battle and too many of her rangers killed later, and she knew that the war was lost.

Already the defenses around the capital of Quel'Thalas were failing. She knew of course, of the deal Dar'Khan Drathir had made with the former prince of Lordaeron : the swine had provided the scourge with the stones of light and flames. With those artefact, the invaders were free to enter Quel'thalas nigh unchallenged.

And now the Ranger General was on her last legs, leading only a handful of soldiers on the bridge between the first and second door of Silvermoon. The shadow of the Death Knight cut through the smoke, so far away and yet worlds too close for her liking. He was coming for her. She was sure of it : Arthas was a vain and spoilt child that would suffer no opposition. He would make an example out of her, to not only break the remaining spirit of the Kal'dorei, but also to punish her for daring to stand in his way. Sylvanas was terrified of course. Who knew what a deranged, power hungry, man child with the power over the dead would do to her? Death was rather obvious. Torture was a given as well. He would most likely resurrect her for his army. None of those looked joyous of course but what if used her for his pleasure? The one of his troops? What of slavery, forced prostitution? What of…

-« I could help you, you know? »

That put a stop to the sordid line of thoughts the Ranger General was going down. Startled by the boyish voice on her side, she whipped her knives ready to cut down whatever foe had managed to sneak up on her. Only to freeze in surprise as an amused pair of green eyes met her blue ones. Emerald, she mentally corrected. Not out of an out of place sense of poetry or a desire to stay as faithful as possible to the panel of colours her sister Vereesa had forcefully shoved down her throat during her « artistic » period. No it was because those eyes genuinely seemed to be emeralds in the sunlight, twinkling with a sense of mystery and magic.

Sylvanas, only taken aback for a brief instant, took but a second to assess the new comer. And boy if she wasn't surprised : instead of a high Elf as she would have expected it was a human. A human boy at that, no more than twelve summers if she had to say. He stood at around 5 feet, an average height for this specie and age she supposed. The boy had jet black hair that seemed to absorb all light, roughly pulled back behind his ears in an attempt to comb them. He was dressed in black, with ankle hight boots in which were tucked a pair of cloth trousers. All she could see around his torso was a cloak fastened around his neck by a silver chain. The cloak it self was a weird design, going up to his chin, almost to his lower lip, and appeared to be without sleeves : the right side stopped at his wrist, showing long, pale fingers, while the left side went down past his knee.

But the observations of the defender of Silvermoon did not stop there. As a High Elf she had spent a large amount of time around the arcanes, and even if she herself was no mage, she could still recognize the feeling of magic. And this boy, whoever he was, was definitely a mage, in training at the very least.

-« It is all right, in all honesty I would be surprised as well if I appeared unannounced in the middle of a battlefield. » , the new comer said in amusement « However for the sake of the situation I should invite you to redirect your attention to what I say not who I am »

-« Ugh…? »

… Not her brightest moment, she would be the first to confess that. Still she had just spent some of the most exhausting weeks of her life, she hoped whatever hallucination she was confronted to would cut her some slack.

-« I said » started the boy with an indulgent smile, as if he was talking to a confused child, « that I could help you. With the slightly apocalyptic situation you appear to be in. »

-« Help me? With an invasion threatening to raze a city, led by a monster, and composed of an army that could very well mean the end of life as it exists on Azeroth? » Sylvanas laughed bitterly « There is no helping me. Quel'Thalas will fall, and Arthas will gain access to the Sun Well. I can however delay him enough to allow some of my people to survive so do not waste my… »

Her rant was interrupted when she had whirled around back to see the battlefield, only to be baffled, once more. The very fact that she had not noticed is a testament to her distress when instead of seeing the Death Knight invading her city as she expected, he had barely moved from the spot he was in before. In fact, the whole world seemed to have lost its momentum. It had not stopped, but rather slowed. The arrows in the air moved slower than a snail, the water below seemed sluggish and even the wings of a nearby bird were barely moving.

-« …Time? »

-« I think you will find, Sylvanas Windrunner, that your time is something that I would never presume to waste. That is, after all, the very reason why I am here » The same sarcastic, slightly smug voice of the boy said. « I was passing by and couldn't help but notice you appeared to be in quite the tough spot. As I said before, I could help you. For a price of course…» He finished with a slightly more dangerous smile.

A price. Of course. This was no boy, but a genie of sort, a fae, seeking to strike deals with mortals in exchange for an excessive compensation. Kind of like goblins now that she thought about it.

-«I assure you, I am quite human, and most definitely mortal »

Did the little brat really just…

-« Read your mind? No of course not. The mind is not a book one simply opens and reads at leasure. I just assumed that would be your train of thought, and based on your facial expressions I guessed the rest. » The now confirmed human replied.

-« Very well. I will assume for the sake of the conversation that you are not, in fact, an hallucination. What kind of price would you demand? » Sylvanas asked, expecting the plea for riches or knowledge, even women if the child was into that sort of things. In the end it would not matter. Despite his impressive show of time dilatation, the victory of Arthas was inevitable.

-« Ah well you see » Started the black haired youth obviously embarrassed, laughing nervously, « I would just need your Sun Well »

-« Of course you … WHAT? » Sylvanas was floored. Outraged. Blown away. And a whole lot of adjectives that evaded her right now. The little shit came to HER town, assumed SHE needed HIS help, and he asked the greatest treasure of her people in exchange for an impossible task? « And what, prey tell, made you think I would even consider such a trade? What difference would it make if I let you take possession of the Sun Well instead of Arthas? » The amused and indulging tone was gone, replaced by the frosty authority of a General.

-« Well… It is not like I would keep it forever! Further more I would not kill most of your people nor resurrect a powerful Lich in the process. »

Unamused, the Ranger General kept staring at the boy, clear on her intention of refusing the so called deal he had dared to bring before her. Finally getting the message, the young mage sighed, his shoulders slumped and he shook his head in disappointment. When finally his eyes met Sylvanas', she was once more surprised by the change. Gone were the humour and playfulness, as was the nervousness previously shown. She now stared at two piercing emerald, that seemed to see through her.

-« Well… » The voice had changed has well. What was before common with an accent that seemed to come from Stormwind, was now a different intonation, calmer, more cultured and ensnaring. « If you are sure of your decision, I should probably let you to your war. But take, if you will this piece of advice. Consider it a freebie. Loyalty is a fickle thing, if it is born out desperation and fear, it is less trustworthy than a fox in a henhouse »

And just like that, not even a blink later, the world started moving again. The deafening sound of battle filled her senses and Sylvanas looked around to see that the strange boy had disappeared. Tightening her grip on her blades, the Elf readied herself and jumped into the frenzy of undead that had passed the first gate.

Within the hour, the bridge had fallen to the Scourge.

Cold, glowing red eyes snapped into focus, only half listening to whatever those adventurer were telling her. She could almost laugh as she remembered the parting words of the strange apparition, all these years ago. This encounter, however brief it was had never left her. In truth, she cherished it, hating the very idea of leaving it behind. Not out of some perverse sentiments, but rather because this brief moments, those few minutes seemed brighter and clearer than all the years she had spent in Quel'Thalas before.

Ever since her death she had been cold, unresponsive to the world, unable to sense its changes. And she had soon started to forget those sensations. All but those she had felt during the most bizarre encounter of her life. The warmth of the sun on her skin, the smell of fire, blood and the trees, even the deep exhaustion throughout her muscles, she treasured those memories for they were the only proof that she, Sylvanas Windrunner, Queen of the Forsaken was real, because Sylvanas, the Ranger General had been indeed alive at one point. Strangely, even though her mind knew of the encounter, she could not remember much of whom she spoke to. The vague shadow of a small being, and the accent were the only thing she could make out other than his words. His appearance was a blur, like a dream forgotten in the morning.

If she was honest, it was her pride that had put away the last advice the little demon, her own nickname for the apparition, for the lack of name, had given her. And if she was even more honest, if she had listened to it, the betrayal of Varimathras would not have blindsided her so much.

She had become lax, overconfident, and her people had payed the price for it. For more than a decade now she had led the forsaken, from a group of lost souls to one of the major forces of Azeroth. She had delivered on her promise and obtained her vengeance from the Lich King Arthas.

« _No King rules forever my son »_

The voice of the King Terenas echoed through her mind. How long would she live? How long would her people follow her? She had never intended to rule over a kingdom, the forsaken were supposed to be a military operation, destined to take down the Frozen Crown. She was a General, not a Queen, a leader of war not in peace. Maybe it was time for an early retirement, she mused. Her eyes fell to the adventurers before her, always traveling, living in excitement and danger. Maybe there was other ways she could serve her people.

« Maybe… », She thought with the ghost of a smile on her lips


	2. Chapter 2

I Do not Own either World of Warcraft nor Harry Potter. Anything that you may recognize do not

belong to me.

I would like to say that this is my first story, and that English is not my first language.

AU for Both WOW and Harry Potter, OOC probable.

Chapter 2

Yes

Yes

NO!

No

…no.

Khadgar's shoulder could only fall in disappointment when he heard the vote of Modera. It was final, the Horde would not be able to send mages to join the Kirin Tor. It was painful to see the vicious smile on Jaina's face at her victory. She who at one point had been the voice of peace between the factions was now just as biased as the rest of the Alliance. Oh, the archmage had her reasons of course, the betrayal of Arthas, leading and later losing Theramore had taken its toll on the young mage.

Still how could she not see the danger her vendetta against the Horde was putting them in? Between Garrosh Hellscream's flee to a different timeline of Draenor, and the offensive of the Burning Legion, orchestrated by a newly returned Gul'dan, Azeroth could not afford to be divided. Especially since the world had not yet healed from the destruction of the Cataclysm, and the two consecutives campaign to the Outlands and Northend.

But giving up had never been in the nature of Khadgar. He had lived through two wars, one of which he ended, and had survived for years in the unforgiving wasteland that were the Outlands. If Kirin Tor would not take action against those threats then he would do so by himself. Smiling softly he could almost feel the presence of Garona and Anduin Lothar beside him, just like all those years ago when his adventures began during the First War.

Perhaps it was for the best, he mused silently, perhaps he could do more for Azeroth in the middle of the action instead of behind the front lines. His magic danced at the thought, ready to be unleashed on those who dared to threaten the future of his world.

'You would do well, Archmage Khadgar to remember that the Kirin Tor fights for the stability of Azeroth and is sworn to the Alliance. How could we trust the beasts of the Horde with the formidable knowledge that we keep, when their History clearly shows that destruction is the only reason behind their pursuit of the Arcances. We cannot, and will not put the races of the Alliance in danger by providing their enemies with more means to destroy them.' Jaina certainly had her way with words, already the rest of the council was nodding in agreement. 'If your loyalty is so uncertain, it would maybe be for the best if you did not occupied a place so important in our midst, Khadgar.'

Now that was a master move. Jaina Proumoore had put him in a corner, he would have to bow down to her authority or turn his back on Kirin Tor and more generally the Alliance; both allegiances he had followed since he was but a boy. However, in her haste, or maybe arrogance, the current Leader of Dalaran had not anticipated two things. The first is that while respected and admired herself, Khadgar was her senior, both in the Kirin Tor and as a Mage, as well as a war hero. Therefore, even without being the leader of the council, he held a very important place in the eyes of the mages worldwide, and his sacking from the organization would turn more than a few backs on Jaina. The second oversight was much more simple of course. Khadgar had allies and friends in a lot of places, and while the loss of his position would hinder his plans, he would be far from alone.

'Yes. Yes you may be right Archmage Proudmoore.' the Student of Medivh started. 'It would perhaps be for the best if I let my place in the council and in Kirin Tor to the newer generation. I would have to confess that after almost four decades, I am beginning to tire with the eternal conflict between our races.'

That sure whipped the smile off of Jaina's face as she understood exactly just how dire her position had just become. Being publicly opposed to Khadgar was not in her plans, and if word spread that her actions had driven one of the most powerful and influential human of recent history away from the Alliance, her time as leader of Kirin Tor would come to a brutal end.

'I believe that I would much better serve in the middle of the campaign than here. I have had my say amongst this esteemed council for a time longer than average and it is maybe time for me to pass the torch to someone who is more in touch with the present… climate here in Kirin Tor' The venom in the archmage's speech was almost palpable. 'I would recommend the Archdruid Staghelm, if you manage to find him, I am sure you would have much to agree on'

'Now see here Khadgar' Jaina started hotly, her cheeks burning in anger and embarrassment 'You are overstepping your position! Do remember where you are and whom you are talking to!'

'SILENCE!' bellowed the now enraged apprentice of Medivh. Magic filled everyone's senses as the shadows grew within the Violet Citadel, an overwhelming aura of power reminding all present that while jovial and friendly, this was still the most powerful magic user since Gul'dan and Medivh. 'I think you will find, Jaina Proudmoore, that it is you who is forgetting yourself! I am Khadgar! The apprentice of the last Guardian, the defier of Sargeras! I have been fighting the Horde and the Burning Legion since before you were born! You are not the only one here who suffered, not by a long shot! However you have to realize that your anger towards the Horde, however justified, is condemning us all! For decades now the armies of Sargeras have exploited our hatred toward each other, and now here on the bridge of extinction, you would still divide the races of Azeroth even if it means our end. Very well then. If that is your wish, remain here, in your anger, alone. But I will be out there, fighting for the future of our world, with whomever will stand by my side, be them human or orc'

Not waiting for an answer, Khadgar turned into a raven and flew away in the wilderness of Deadwind Pass.

Pain… Agony… Unable to actually feel anything and yet torment was all of Illidan Stormrage's world. He did not know how long had passed since he was here. Days, weeks, years? His defeat on top of the Black Temple seemed so far away now, his last words to Maiev of taunts seemed to have done their magic, since he could feel he was back to his old cell, the enchantments had of course been upgraded to match his colossal gain of power.

The warden seemed to have learned more about his condition then he had given her credit, the gigantic crystal in which he was encompassed had allowed his soul to re-enter his broken body, but stopped his magic from healing him, and left him in a state of limbo, aware of the world around him and yet unable to regain consciousness.

The punishment was worthy of a mind like Maiev of course. Alone with his thoughts any lesser man would have been driven insane. But the leader of the Illidari was no lesser man. His mind was as sharp as ever, focused on the singular thought that had driven him since as long as he could remember, and that was the destruction of the Legion.

He would replay it behind his eyes for days on end, every one of his decisions, from the war of the Ancients to the fall of the Black Temple. And for all his pain, all the betrayals he had committed and suffered, there was nothing he would change. Oh of course every time he would be just a bit faster, just a bit smarter, the one difference that would make him come out on top instead of defeated, but there was no doubt in Illidan's mind that his actions, however horrifying they might have been, were justified.

His brother was just weak. He could not see what needed to be done and feared which that he could not control. It was the reason why the arcanes were banned from Darnassus for nearly ten thousands years, and it was the reason why Malfurion had locked him away for all eternity. It would have been easier and safer to simply kill him, but his twin's weakness showed once again, appearing to be mercy and earning him the admiration of all.

Of course, no matter how horrible his actions were, Illidan's legacy was still very much welcomed by the Kal'dorei. Recreating the Well of Eternity was just terrible enough to banish him forever, yet acceptable enough that the new well would be channeled for the eternal youth the Night Elves enjoyed. And so Malfurion would go on to rule over his people enjoying the fruit of his brother's sacrifices, with the beautiful Tyrandes by his side.

Ah, Tyrandes. His heart swelled at the mere thought of the priestess of Elune, but he immediately crushed these thoughts. It would do him no good to dwell on could have been. In truth Illidan had long ago let go of his resentment and hatred toward those who betrayed him. His formidable mind clear enough still to realize that only madness would await him if he spend too long trapped in his anger. And he would need all the sanity he could spare if he wanted to fight the Legion when they would return. For there was no doubt in his mind that when once again the Hunter of Demons was needed, his jailers would set him free to fight for them.

And so Illidan would avoid as much as possible to think of his brother and Tyrandes, opting instead to plot future actions against the demons or ponder what could have been if he had been better in the past. The only person of his past he would gladly think back on was, ironically enough, Maiev. No matter how much she hated him, the Warden was the only person he had ever met that he could truly relate to. It would pain her to hear, and he doubted she would ever admit it, but they were more similar than she assumed.

She and her wardens had spend ten thousand years guarding his prison. Their entire life whole heartedly devoted to one purpose. It was only fitting that Maiev would be the only one that would keep him as she was the only one that could appreciate the value of sacrifice for one's cause as much as he did. And so despite their profound disagreements, Illidan deeply respected his warden. Not that he wouldn't kill her given the chance of course.

It was in the midst of his usual thoughts that suddenly the world changed. Ten thousand years had done nothing to the Betrayer's senses, and he could pinpoint exactly the moment when magic filled his cell. Foreign, powerful, and subtle, but magic as he had once used none the less. And with that for the first time in millennia Illidan's eyes opened.

'I hope you don't mind but I took the liberty of returning your natural sight for the duration of the discussion'

If the sudden voice coming from a presence he had not noticed had not given him a heart attack, the first colours he saw in centuries nearly did. Illidan marveled at the majesty of the world he saw once more, install taking note for the first time of the cell that had been his companion for so long. As he had guessed he was trapped in a magical crystal, but he could, for some reason see through it as if it were not here. The cell was larger than he would have assumed however, but just as dark and humid. Droplets of water fell from the ceiling, but for some reason they seemed to take forever to do so. Actually, everything around were sluggish, as if moving though thick mud. All but the figure that stood before him and was undeniably the source of the foreign magic. He was a man, Illidan thought, or at least had the face of one. Just like the draconic aspect, the creature might appear bipedal and frail but the presence underneath the surface left no doubt that he was something more. He looked young, in his mid twenties maybe. Black hair lazily slicked back, and pale skin. The stranger was clad in black cloth from head to feet, a fine silk black cloak wrapped around his shoulders. But his eyes were the real point of focus. A deeper, clearer green than the Fel's perversion, yet an even shinier one than that of the emerald dream. Amusement and mischievousness danced behind the iris, yet it was not pleasant, for it had a rather predatory look to it. With a slight smile, the new comer spoke, once more.

'I have to confess, this is a rather impressive cage. One that I myself have struggled to enter. But still, having heard of your deeds, I suppose the extra security is warranted.' said the wizard, in a voice different than the ones Illidan remembered hearing from adventurers. It had an accent he had never heard before, with a certain nobility and hypnotic quality to it. 'Illidan Stormrage, the Betrayer… Such a tragic story. I myself am a sucker for tragic stories. This is why I have wanted to meet you for long. You sacrificed everything to save your people, your dignity, your eyes… your love. And yet how do they repay you? By betraying you. Locking you in the little piece of Hell until such a time come that you would be needed again. And you my friend did not disappoint! You still fought for them, for her… more sacrifices, more pain. Such a shame they could not see it though…'

He could not help it, the seductive, compassionate tone rang a chord in Illidan. Old feelings of bitterness rose, outrage long forgotten at the treatment he received from his family and friends. A part of his mind knew that only trouble would come from listening to the honey the stranger was pouring down his ears. But even he had cracks on his armor and the speaker visibly knew exactly where to hit.

'This is why I have come really. After all you have done for our world, for all worlds, after all you have given up on to fight the Legion, you of all people deserve something good. Some… Reward, one would say' Continued the green eyed man 'Tell me, great Demon Hunter, what is it that you desire? Your freedom perhaps? The love of a certain green haired priestess? The death of your brother…?'

Illidan did not need to look to know that the face of his interlocutor was split in a vicious smile. All throughout his speech the Voice had become more passionate, and had gained a magical dimension, seemingly coming from everywhere at once.

'And I suppose that such an offer does not come free…?' The raspy voice of Illidan rang, sounding foreign from lack of use. 'A being such as you rarely does anything out of the goodness of their heart'

'I see that nothing pass by you!' laughed the man, seemingly overjoyed by how fast the prisoner was understanding the situation. Yet as fast as the amusement had come it was replaced by a cool facade 'You are correct, of course. I have come to you in the hope of striking a deal with you. The price I will ask of course will depend on what it is you ask of me. Someone with an understanding of sacrifice as keen as yours must understand the principle I assume'

'Save your transparent flattery, Serpent! Had I been free I would have struck you down where you stand for your insolence!' Strength had return to him and the shock of the situation had dissipated enough so that his famous temper started to rise. 'Still… Desperate times leads to desperate measures… If I could ask for anything… Then I would like to have the chance to fight the Burning Legion once more.'

The man stood there in a solemn silence for a while after that. Tacit respect shone in his eyes as he contemplated the request of a man who had sacrifice much to fight the Demons, and was ready to give up even more to keep fighting.

'You truly are worthy of being called Demon Hunter, Illidan Stormrage. The Kal'Dorei lost a great Elf in their bigotry. Very well then, are you ready to hear the prize of your request?'

'Wait… Wait. Before whatever outrageous ransom you demand for your magic, could I at least know your name? I thought It was tradition for devils to introduce themselves to those with whom they make deals?'

'Oh, I assure you, I am quite human. I age, and will die as is our lot to all. And I do not have any interest in your soul if that is what you are worried about. But very well. I suppose it was a large oversight of my part to strike a conversation without even introducing myself. My name, is Lord Hadrian J. Potter, Keeper of the Inevitable. But you may call me Harry.'

The newly introduced Harry bowed his head to Illidan with a smile, apparently delighted that someone had asked him to introduce himself.

'As for your payment… It will be your Legacy, Illidan Stormrage.'

Whatever Illidan was expecting, that definitely was not it. Already an uneasy feeling was weighting on his guts. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea…

'Every thing you have done, every memories or feelings you might have caused will be barred from memory. The credit for your accomplishment will be passed to someone else. The joy and sorrow you have instilled, the love and hatred people feel for you, all will disappear forever. As soon as you accept this deal, it will be as if you had never existed. And when the consequences of opposing the Legion finally catch up to you, when you inevitably die, it will truly be the end. No one will remember your name. Not the Kal'Dorei, not Sargeras, or your Illidari, not even Malfurion… nor Tyrandes.'

The silence was deafening as the full extend of the choice before him unravelled. Illidan had always prided himself on being ready to do whatever was necessary to combat the Legion. But faced with the possibility of true and total anonymity was frightening. No one to remember him, in good or ill, nothing to mark his passage on Azeroth. A part of him doubted this Harry could even do such a thing but he had long since learned not to underestimate anyone.

On one hand not having to bear the hatred of the world would certainly be liberating, but on the other, his sweet, precious Tyrandes would forget him. She was the reason why he would go to such length to stop the Burning Legion after all, and despite all better judgment, Illidan had always held onto the hope that one day she would see him and his action for what they were, and forgive him. If not love him then at least carry the same affection that she had ten thousand years ago. But if he accepted the deal then all these dreams would vanish. All he would have left would be his war against demons.

What was it he said all these years ago to the adventurers that had invaded the Black Temple? ' _YOU ARE NOT PREPARED!'_ And no matter how dramatic it was, it was true then and it was still true now. Azeroth was not ready to face an invading force from the Burning Legion the likes he had seen in the Twisting Nether. If he refused the deal and did nothing there was a true possibility that Darnassus would fall and Tyrandes would lose her life.

The silence seemed to stretch for ever until finally the dark and strong voice of Illidan rang in the Dungeon…

'Very well then, I will accept your offer, Harry Potter'

No sooner had these world left his mouth that the world exploded in a brilliant green light.


	3. Chapter 3

I Do not Own either World of Warcraft nor Harry Potter. Anything that you may recognize do not belong to me.

I would like to say that this is my first story, and that English is not my first language.

AU for Both WOW and Harry Potter, OOC probable.

Chapter 3

'Come forth my friend, and tell me of your plan.'

The powerful voice of an old troll rang through the stiffening air of Grommash Hold. The speaker was seated in the massive throne across the room, his chest was only partially covered by a wooden shoulder guard and a leather belt running from his left shoulder to his right hip. This was Vol'Jin, the chieftain of the Darkspear Trolls and current Warchief of the Horde. There was a sense of deep weariness in his tone, the past few month had taken their tolls on the Shadow Hunter. The reckless and violent actions of Garrosh Hellscream had not only further weakened the fragile cease fire his people had with the Alliance, but had also nearly torn the Horde apart. The murder of Cairn Bloodhoof had put a strain on their relations with the Tauren, and he himself would have left the Horde had it not been for the reassurance of his friend Thrall.

Now, few months later, a semblance of stability had returned, but the situation with the alliance was still on the edge : one wrong move would pull the whole of Azeroth in a fiery and bloody war. But the spirit were more restless than ever. They whispered of change and time, laughed and cried in warning to some unspeakable events. Vol'Jin had no doubt that the reason for this laid in the matter his old friend had brought up : Garrosh Hellscream, the previous Warchief had used the power of the Bronze Dragonflight to transport to an alternate timeline of Draenor. In his folly, the young Orc had stirred up ghosts that belonged to the past. No one knew for sure what was happening in the homeland of the Orcs but the little that was known did not bode well. Garrosh had convinced his father and Blackhand to refuse the demon blood offered by Gul'Dan, and had created his own faction, that he had dubbed the Iron Horde. While that in itself was not so problematic, as it meant that this Draenor would not know the corruption of the Fel and turn in the wasteland that were the Outlands, initial reports indicated that Garrosh meant to bring the Iron Horde to Azeroth. Worse yet, the arrogant Warchief had foolishly thought that he could control Gul'dan, and had opted to let him live in order to channel his formidable power. But the Shadow Council had not been idle and quickly freed their leader. And now the Harbinger of the Legion was biding his time, preparing for the arrival of his masters.

'Warchief Vol'Jin', started Thrall in a respectful manner, 'Thank you for your time. As you know the Traitor Hellscream took refuge in our homeland. Thankfully without the corruption that Gul'dan spread in our timeline, the spirits of Nature still hold sway within this Draenor. By communing with them I was able to gather some precious information, as well as to communicate with Drek'Thar, the one who taught me the ways of the Shaman. It was agreed that he would welcome us within the land of the Frostwolf Clan, should we manage to reach it.'

The power that Thrall had been bestowed when he became the Earth Warden truly was awe inspiring. The new leader of the Earthen circle was wearing a hooded white robe and heavy chains around his wrists and hips. The legendary Doomhammer was by his side, the very fact that he was allowed to bring a weapon within the Grommash Hold despite not being one of the Leader of the Horde spoke worlds of the respect he still commanded in Ogrimmar. But despite the calm and immovable facade that he projected, Vol'Jin could see the burning hatred that was hiding behind the eyes of his old friend at the mention of Garrosh. The murder of Cairne had cut Thrall deeply.

'Some of my informants have reported that the Alliance will launch a similar expedition in hope to help the Drainei that still reside in Draenor. We have issued a treaty of mutual non aggression for the duration of our arrival. The few informations passed down from the party composing the first invading forces of the Horde during the First War indicate that the Dark Portal was situated in the Tanaan Jungle. Unfortunately we will not able to rely on what is known of the geography, fauna and flora from the Outland, as reports state that Draenor was significantly different. Once we have crossed the Portal, we will destroy it in order to delay the invasion of Azeroth by the Iron Horde. Then, we will separate from the Alliance Party and reach Frostfire Ridge by boat. If luck will have it we will be able to convince the Frostwolf clan to rise up against Garrosh, and we will then proceed to rally as many clans and people from all over Draenor to form an opposing force against the Iron Horde.'

'A sound plan, I have to say. But why the cloak and dagger artifice? We have the man power and technology to defeat Garrosh should we send a larger force to attack him directly, and we would not risk the possibility that he gains more strength through more of his unspeakable rituals.'

It was Lor'Themar Theron that had spoken. The regent of Quel'Thalas truly embodied the strength that had made the High Elves a feared race during millennia. His one green eye shone with a sharp intelligence and his powerful stature easily intimidated lesser men.

'True, we could probably defeat Garrosh as he is now.' Started Thrall, 'But all is not what it seems. Garrosh is no Gul'Dan, and he failed to unite all of the Orc under his banner. Some Clans oppose him openly while many others remain neutral. However an invading party the likes you think of would without a doubt turn all of the people of Draenor against us, and we risk pushing some if not all clans within the Iron Horde. Worse case scenario, if Garrosh becomes truly desperate, it is still possible that he turns toward an alliance with the Shadow Council. No, if we want to bring Hellscream to justice, we can only act in small ways, and defer to the existing clans. Draenor must free itself.'

There was truth in the words of the shaman, pondered Vol'Jin. Still the instinct developed in countless years of conflict screamed at him a warning. Silently asking the spirits for guidance, the Warchief finally spoke.

'Very well, my friend. I will allow you to issue a summon for our more experienced warriors and adventurers in the name of the Horde. You will have a partial access to our vaults to finance this crusade. However, it is expected of you to claim for the Horde whatever territories that is available, and a portion of the war loot that you may recover will be paid in tribute. Furthermore, do remember that you may be the leader of the Earthen Circle now, but you are still a figure head of the Horde. Any action that you take will have repercussion on the Horde. Therefor It is not needed to warn you not to do anything that could alienate foreign people, or worsen relation that we already have.'

The message was clear : we are on the brick of war, so do not create any more tension with the Alliance. Still, Thrall bowed his head in acceptance to the old troll's demand. They were, after all, similar to those he had put forward during his time as Warchief, whenever one of his vassals asked for the support of his Horde. With a breath of relief, Thrall retreated from his place in front of the Throne and returned between Varok Saurfang and Lor'Themar. His eyes roamed to room, as he had done a hundred time since he assumed leadership of the New Horde, more than fifteen years ago. He saw with pride that Baine Bloodhoof stood tall where his father had once stood, and although the weight of the chieftain position had aged him somewhat, he had managed to rally quite expertly his people. The Marchand Prince Gallywix was obnoxiously eyeing the rich decorations of the Grommash Hold. Lor'Themar stood impassively, not one hair out of place, looking utterly bored and not in the least concerned by what was to him, fleeting threats that would disappear in the blink of his immortal eye. But what really drew his attention was Sylvanas. She was, as usual, wearing the crimson hood decorated with skulls, her trusty bow was tightly held by her side, and the same air of impatience loomed around her. But today a rare occurence had happened : the Banshee Queen had invited Nathanos to join them in the meeting. While the leaders were allowed to bring their advisors to a meeting of chieftains, tradition had decreed that it was an exceptional event. Lastly the attention of the former ranger was firmly placed on the Warchief. In an ideal world, such a thing would be the norm for one of the major Vassal of the Horde, but all knew of the legendary phlegm the Banshee Queen displayed during meetings, her desire to bolt out of Orgimmar back to the Bowel of Undercity was just as much an aspect of the Horde as the unforgiving territories of Durotar. That was the reason why the almost eager look in her red eyes was almost out of place. And sure enough, as soon as the subject of Draenor's expedition was closed, Sylvanas spoke.

'If you would allow me, Warchief, I would like to address this council.'

The surprise in the room was palpable. Six and a half pair of eyes turned toward the Dark Lady, wondering what sort of world shattering matter could force the aloof blonde to voice herself in a reunion of Chieftain.

'As you all know, it has now been fifteen years since Arthas' sway over us undead wavered and resulted in the formation of the group now known as the Forsaken. It had always been our goal to put an end to the tyranny of the Lich King. Entering the Horde was at the time a simple way of surviving and gaining protection against those that would seek to prevent us from accomplishing our Goal. However as time went on, I have watched as the Forsaken found a place amongst the people of the Horde, as they learned and taught, and embraced what it truly meant to be apart of this Faction. As you know I have had much to ponder after the fall of the Icercrown. From new allies, to betrayals and war.'

None could have missed the grave tone of Sylvanas' speech. Curiosity rose within Vol'Jin as he considered the former High Elf. From the moment he had met her, the spirits were raging in her presence. At first the Warchief had thought that it was because of her statut of undead, but he had then met many more forsaken and none had provoked such a reaction from the realm of the shadows. And now it seemed that, if had guessed correctly, the Horde would undergo a transformation once more.

'It is hard for us who are dead to remain a part of this world. It is constantly changing while we endure, and remain the same with the passage of seasons. And so, if we wish to go forward, to strive as a people and civilisation, We cannot stay frozen, separated from the rest of Azeroth. That is why I have felt that it was time for a change in Undercity. I have dealt with it with my advisors and made every affairs in order. It is time for the undead to start evolving, starting with the Leadership; I will desist as queen of the Forsaken and leave my place to my champion, Nathanos.'

Sylvanas watched, honestly amused by the shocked faces of her peers. Behind her, she felt Nathanos stiffened, apparently still unused to his new position.

 _Flashback_

 _'You have called for me, my Lady?' the voice of her champion made her look up from the agonizingly long paperwork she was dealing with._

 _'I have yes. Walk with me, Nathanos.'_

 _The pair of former rangers walked for a while in silence, following the sickly green waters of Undercity. The capital was bursting with movement, a party forming probably by ambitious adventurers wishing to conquer whatever mysteries they might find in Pandaria. They eventually reached a place overlooking the central part of her city._

 _'Do you ever miss it, Nathanos?'_

 _'My Lady?'_

 _'Time. Mortality. Whatever you wish to call it. Do you ever miss that feeling of finality that pushed you to be better, to adapt? I had often wondered why you, a mere human, no matter how talented you were, had managed to complete in a mere decade what some Elf spend life times accomplishing. It is only recently that it hit me. It is because you knew that your life was but a fleeting moment that you strived every day to be better than the last. That you would rush through life, and value it so, because you knew it would soon end.'_

 _'Ah… Yes I do see what you mean. If I was to be honest, my Lady, then yes. After all, knowing that something will end was the very thing that made it valuable. Time was precious and it is that shortage that pushes human and mortal races to grow ever more through the generations. But I have found in our people, their security and prosperity , a motivation just as powerful as the fear of death.'_

 _Sylvanas smiled at her student's answer. It was perfect. Nathanos was not only one of the few she had a complete trust to, he was also the one with the vision necessary to take over her burden._

 _'I have ruled over the Forsaken for a decade and a half now, my old apprentice. Some of my charges have known my rule for just as long as they have known the one of Terenas. I would like to think that I have done my part in what I hope will be the long Story of the Forsaken.'_

 _Sylvanas watched in barely concealed glee as Nathanos went, as close as a non-breathing undead could, in hyperventilation. His horrified expression alone made her regret not having stepped down years sooner._

 _'I have watched with pride as you learned our ways and skills, and I have no doubt that you will rise to the challenge that poses Leadership. Your values and vision are what is needed for our people to reach their full potential. In a month from now the Leaders of the Horde will convene, and I will then announce my abdication. And then, my friend, you, will be King.'_

 _Flashback ends_

It had taken quite a bit of meetings and concessions to insure the legitimacy of Nathanos' future rule. In a whole, most of her direct advisors and heads of state had accepted the idea fairly quickly. But it was to one particular encounter that Sylvanas' mind kept coming back to.

 _Flashback_

 _She had just finished the meeting in which she announced her plan to leave the Leadership of the Forsaken. All the guild masters and heads of departments had hurried back to their stronghold in order to prepare for the impending changes. Only one figure had remained behind, and the banshee Queen could feel the weight of their gaze._

 _'Do you object my choice, Sif?' asked Sylvanas to the leader of her Val'kir. 'I promised you and your people a place amongst the Forsaken in exchange for your services. Does me leaving change this accord?'_

 _'…It will not' came the raspy voice of the maiden. 'If we follow you today, it is not out necessity or obligation, but respect. You are one of the rare mortals to have caught the attention of our Master. You do not realize how rare your existence is. In all my memories, no more than a handful have refused the temptation our Lord brings with his deals'_

 _Morbid fascination swept through her being as the realization came to her. For the first time in nigh twenty years, another voice than hers had mentioned her little demon. The maiden of Death in front of her knew of, and visibly answered to in some way, what she had long since convinced herself was a figment of her imagination._

 _'I know what you think of, my Lady.' continued Sif, 'We are in servitude of another. However I assure you that is of no consequences. We may be connected to him in a way most creature could not comprehend, however never before has he interacted with us. Or any other sentient creature under his dominion, that I know of.'_

 _'Who is he? What does he want? Tell me!', demanded Sylvanas_

 _'Names and titles have power, my queen. I dare not utter his, for fear of attracting unwanted attention. However I will tell you this : he is a tester. He wanders this world as he did countless others. He seeks those who catch his fancy. Sometimes he punishes, other times he rewards. None, to my knowledge, have received the same test, and none of his deals are what they appear to be. You have been touched by his Magic, yet have refused him. If you passed your test or not, I do not know. I doubt he himself knows. However there is no doubt in my mind that you will encounter him again. When you do, be wary of your language. He does not lie, never. But nothing is what it appears to be.'_

 _Well that was ominous. If Sylvanas was not concerned before, that certainly did the trick. There was something deeply disturbing in a seeing a creature capable of reaching the world of the beyond wary of a being. Still, she was a huntress. A ranger. She did not cower from a challenge, she would rise up to it, and when the moment would come she would meet this devil with her head held high._

 _'You do not have to worry though. We will continue to honor our agreement with the Forsaken. The Val'kir have found a new home here, and will follow your successor until the time comes when our services are no longer wanted.'_

 _Flashback ends_

The calm had returned to meeting as all the other chieftains were pondering her decision, measuring the implication of such a change. Finally, Vol'Jin addressed Sylvanas

'This is quite a big decision, Windrunner. One that the Spirits cannot assess unanimously. It is no secret that amongst the people of the Horde, the Forsaken have always held a unique place. For some reasons that could not be helped, and other where the blame lies on both parties. I will have to ask you, what is it that you will do after your departure?'

'It is a question that have plagued me for a long time, Warchief. I realize that many of my actions and inactions have hurt the Horde, both in its core and in its standing. The rebellion of Varimathras and the invasion of Gilneas, have exacerbated our rapports with some of our ennemies. It is my hope that me leaving will allow the new Forsaken to gain a new standing amongst both our allies and enemies. There are a few things I must find out, about myself and the world. I hope to continue serving the Horde as an adventurer in the party formed with Thrall to Draenor, for the time being. Once I find what I was looking for, I will either remain an emissary for the Forsaken in the future campaigns or return to Undercity where I will either teach my craft, or if they will have me, serve as an advisor.'

Silently acquiescing the leader of the Trolls turned to his predecessor to see if he would like to comment on this new development. Understanding his friend's intentions, Thrall spoke.

'You obviously have spend much time maturing this decision, Sylvanas. If it is your wish, we should honor it and simply thank you for all you have done for the Horde along the years. I would be honored to count you as one of my comrade in arms in the incoming campaign.'

Understanding that no more was needed to be said, the former ranger of Quel'Thalas smiled and headed toward the door of Fort Grommash, leaving the bewildered leadership of the Horde behind. So captivated by the feeling of adventure that swelled in her chest, she did not even register the tingling of her skin as the sun warmed her.

Blood pulsing in her head, Jaina ran through the door of her room in the Violet Citadel. Rage ran through her veins as the last few hours were replayed behind her eyes. How dare that pathetic old man defy her? Khadgar must have been corrupted by the foul energy of the Outlands, that was the only explanation. She had grown up hearing of the tales of Khadgar, the powerful mage that defeated the Guardian at the cost of his youth, and proceed to fight the Horde back to their Homeworld, sacrificing his life in the process.

When words reached her that he had survived and was found still living beyond the Great Portal, she had been thrilled. Hopes of peace between the races swelled, she had hoped that this wise mage, the inheritor of the legendary line of Guardian would be able to guide them, and bring order back to Azeroth.

She scoffed, disgusted by her naivety. There would be no peace with mindless, violent creatures. And Khadgar was too weak to see what needed to be done. He refused to take the mantel of the Master of Karazhan. She herself had tried to become the latest guardian before joining Varian in the Siege of Ogrimmar. The Alliance would need all the power they could get, but clearly Medivh's loyalty to the Horde perdured even in death. His shadow had refused to infuse her with the power of his Line. Called her filthy, and twisted.

Feeling the now familiar pain and nausea, Jaina rushed to a hidden compartiment behind a wall. There, she took a small vial filled with clear liquid, almost looking like liquid silver. She gulped it in one sip, its retched taste leaving barely any unpleasantness on her damaged tastebuds. As usual, the potion calmed the pain of the attack, but did nothing to soothe the deep unease in her core. She needed more and more of the potion, more and more often. She soon would have to return to Northend to gather more supplies for her batch.

Still she headed tiredly toward a table on which a multitude of old leather books laid. She knew that the subject of her research was outright banned from the Kirin Tor, but time was not to half measures. The answer to her problem was in one of these books, and she would find it. The fate of the Alliance and of all that was good on Azeroth depended on her power to protect them from the Horde.

'You won't find it here, you know?'

As soon as the word rang through the room, Jaina had sprung up, a deadly spell at the tip of her tongue, ready to smite whomever risked to attack her in her own room. Her eyes darted across the empty room, searching for the source of… her own voice?

'I am right here. I would greatly appreciate it if you did not send that nasty spell my way, but honestly I could hardly blame you. I wish I could say it was the first time a witch tried to curse me out of her room, but it happens more time that you would think'

Finally the Jaina's eyes fell to her full size mirror that ornate the back of her door, facing her. Silently calling on her magic to determine wether she was really visited or if her tormented mind was playing games on her. Acknowledging that there was indeed a foreign presence in her room, she simply could not comprehend the nature of her visitor.

In front of her, in her mirror, she saw… herself. Or more accurately she recognized herself. Her ivory hair were full and fell in luscious locks on her shoulders instead of the pasty, dry ones that she knew she actually had. Her reflection's skin had a perfect porcelain color, and her lips were full and red, quirked in a confident smirk. She held herself with confidence and grace. All in all, Jaina felt oddly inadequate compared to her alter ego, feeling dried up and stretched in her skin. But the major difference was that instead of her baby blue eyes, her mirror self had emerald eyes that completed the appearance of a powerful witch.

'Who are you?' demanded Jaina to her mirror, approaching it warily.

'Well I would have thought that was obvious. I am You. Or more accurately I have assumed a form in this mirror of a version of you that could have been. But if you are asking me Who I am, I fail to see what good a name would do you without a face to attach it to. No, no. The correct question would be WHAT I am.'

Great. Whoever visited her was an annoying riddler thinking they are so smart being as vague and cryptic as possible. Must be Mage, she mused silently.

'What are you then, Aliame?'

'Why my dear… I am the answer to all of your prayers', Her reflection answered, an unreadable twinkle in her eyes.

Jaina's blood ran cold as she heard the answer from her alter ego. There was no way that anyone knew of her quest, she had been so careful. Yet…

'I have to admit…', the apparition in the glass said, 'White is a good colour on you. And kudos on the Mana Bomb excuse. I would have just claimed a change of style, but nothing beats hair changing trauma I guess. Lucky every one bought it too, I would not want to be you if word of your dealings got out. Still, I of all people recognize the corruption that Necromancy can have on a user's body…'

'I… I do not you what you are talking about…' Jaina was now terrified by this creature.

'DO NOT LIE TO ME !' The voice from the mirror roared suddenly, the other Jaina's face twisted with rage. The background in the mirror burst into flames but as soon as it came, calm returned. The one she had dubbed Aliame seemed sheepish when she continued. 'I am sorry about that. I should not have yelled. You have nothing to fear from me. I have no intention of turning you in, nor do I judge you for your actions'.

This was bad. If some complete stranger could see through her, how long until others did? She knew that already her fellow archmages conspired against her, no doubt biding their time until they strike. Even Kalec could not be trusted, not with this. He would seek to hold her down, to keep her from achieving her goal. But this strange being, it seemed so understanding. Its voice was soothing, and felt like cool water on her dried skin.

'I mean, the others, they would not understand. But you were alone, in the middle of enemy territories. You needed power, no matter the consequences. And you, you were strong. You would not succumb to the madness of this power, like so many others did before you. You made the right decision, the one that was needed to protect your people. No matter the cost, as a true leader should'

Hope swelled in the leader of Kirin Tor has she was lulled by the entrancing voice. Yes, she was right to do it. She had the right to do it. Finally, someone that understood her, that saw what she saw, that agreed with her vision.

'But the threat came too quickly. You did not have the time to master this new magic. And so, Theramore was destroyed. But that did not stop you. You strived forward and kept on studying death magic. But you were very astute. You manage to delay the decaying of your body quite well. But you can not outrun the consequences of necromancy forever.'

Jaina's mind was filled with the hypnotic quality of the speech. The guilt and doubt weighting in the back of her mind were lifted by the compassion in Aliame's voice.

'Your hair were just the first step was it not? Yes, I can see it within you. The burning, ever-present rage in your being. Tell me, have the hallucinations started yet? Have you waken up somewhere, with no idea what you were doing or how you got there? Have the whispers begun to twist your thoughts, has paranoia isolated you from your loved ones? But you did not stop. Tell me, what do you seek to accomplish, if you could truly master Necromancy? Your city has fallen, your motivation to gain power is no more…'

'If… If I can truly control Necromancy, then it would not matter. Rhonin, Antonidas, Arthas, and all the people of Theramore that lost their lives, I could bring them back! And then, with the true power over the Dead, I could protect Theramore and the Kirin Tor against the Horde and all those that would not take action against them!'

'Yes. Necromancy could take you far on the road to greatness. But you and I both know that your soul and your body will have decayed long before you gain sufficient mastery over the craft to achieve your goals. Unless… I were to help you.'

'You… You could help me? I did not find any answer in the knowledge attained by the Kirin Tor, and the access to Karazhan's library was barred to me. Kel'Thuzad probably took all the tomes pertaining necromancy when he betrayed us.'

'hmmm…' hummed Aliame, turning a little within her frame. She opened her twinkling green eyes and slyly looked over to Jaina. She then lifted her hand, and her palm was magically cut opened by an invisible blade. Blood fell from the wound but did not fall to the ground, it hovered a few inches below her hand. The red liquid seemed to coagulate into a mineral, and within a few seconds, a scarlet, irregular stone was snatched form the air by a now completely healed hand. The magical apparition appraised her work before speaking. 'This, is a sorcerer stone. From it, you will be able to extract what is called the Elixir of Life. This elixir will keep your body from the damages of times, diseases, magic or sword, healing even the most grievous wounds. You will be able to practice Necromancy without to ever have to worry about being corrupted by the arcanes ever again.'

The Archmage leader of the Six was thrown away by the claims of her alter ego. She could feel the magic in her voice, indicating that what was said was the truth. No matter who it was, no one can lie while infusing their voice with magic. It was a known fact that this creature exploited to prouve the veracity of his claims. It was there. Every thing she had dreamt of, the object of her obsession for months. Just within her reach.

'Of course, such a treasure is not free. You desire this stone in order to master the magic of the Dead. But necromancy is incompatible with the domain of Alexstrasza. If you desire this stone, you will have to renounce any connection to the Life Binder, now and forever.'

A vicious smirk appeared on Jaina's face as she heard the one condition that this benevolent giver was asking for. Fire burned behind her now icy blue eyes.

'Ah! If that is all that you require, your proposition is not that difficult to accept! I, Jaina Proudmoore, Archmage of the Kirin Tor, renounce to bow to Alexstrasza, the Life Binder. I relinquish her gifts and object to her rule! So mote it be.'

As soon as her pledge was said, the mirror Jaina smiled cruelly, as the reflection of her room aged visibly, dust accumulated, stone walls fell, and all light disappeared.

'It was a pleasure doing business with you, Jaina Proudmoore.'

Aliame slipped the stone within her pocket, before an intense green light exploded, blinding Jaina. As soon as she opened her eyes, she was staring at her own reflection, no trace of the apparition, not even residual magic within the mirror. She could have believed she had dreamt the encounter if she did not feel the unfamiliar weight in her pocket.

Shakily she reached down, and her fingers closed around the cool surface of a magnificent blood red stone. Elation filled her as she magically vanished all the books on her table with a swipe of her hand. Experienced in alchemy, Jaina made quick work of the task at hand, and within the hour she held a concentrated extract of the essence of the stone. The liquid hummed with power, there was no doubt in her mind that this was the genuine Elixir of Life. Hesitating only for a moment, her eyes found the painting of a sunrise over Theramore, hung on her wall. Raising the vial to the reminder of her city, she downed it.

The effect were instantaneous. Energy filled her, she could feel the magic restoring her muscles, her hair and skin lost their dry looks and appeared healthy and perfect, just like they were months ago. But most of all, the haze that had clouded her mind lifted instantly, and the gravity of the situation hit her full force.

She had never meant to let things go so far. Her interest in necromancy was at first a simple way for her to try and understand what Arthas had gone through. But somehow, every time she touched this magic, the temptation to touch it once more was more powerful, her temper seem to rise more quickly, she started to doubt every one, even her friends. Suddenly she seemed to forget all that she had learned, and only mastering new powers over the dead was on her mind. But now that she had been restored by the Elixir of Life, she could see how arrogant and reckless she had been. Necromancy had almost consumed her like it consumed the former Prince of Lordaeron. She had forgotten to care for her people, the same way and for the same reason as the Lich King had.

But it was the encounter with the creature that had offered her the stone that occupied her mind now, and filled her with worry. A vague memory of a warning about a green eyed demon taking the face of a young boy came to mind. He would present himself and offer whatever his prey desired. But he would extract a terrible price, that, more often than not resulted in the death of the person.

Nausea came. She had sworn off Alexstrasza. To her knowledge, no one had done so before. She needed to speak to Kalec, maybe he could interfere to his queen in her name. Maybe it was not to late to return to the favor of the Red Dragon Queen. As she rose to her feet, she frowned when she felt moisture on the ground. Yes, a red sticky liquid was tainting her floor. Wondering where blood was coming from, Jaina's eyes rose toward the mirror that she had spoke to not an hour prior, and a sob escaped.

The full comprehension of the consequences of her deal came. For the Elixir of Life, she had renounced the rule of the Life Binder, and all of her gifts. And now, her once pure white robe was tainted red from the waist down, as her ability to give life was drained from her body. Unable to think or do anything, Jaina's knee failed her and she fell to the floor, weeping.

Chapter End

Thank you for all of you that reviewed.

Jaina calls the form that Harry takes to appear to her 'Aliame' which is a contraction of 'Alia me', 'other me', in Latin (I think)


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